Haunted
by lionesseyes13
Summary: This is my examination of what in his past might haunt Neal and how that relates to his work as a healer.


Author's Note: This is yet another random plot bunny of mine. It doesn't take place during a specific time in Neal's years as a squire, and it seemed better in my head than it did on paper, but hopefully you will enjoy it, anyway.

Disclaimer: If you think that I am Tamora Pierce, I have some charming real estate in Tortall that I would love to sell you if you are interested…

Haunted

Neal could feel the bile scorching its way up his esophagus before he had even exited the healers' tent. Not wanting to humiliate himself by vomiting in public like an unblooded, wet-behind-the-ears page, he had to hurry out of the tent and away from the rest of the camp, where he could sit on a moss-covered stone in the woods and upchuck his last meal of what had purported to be dried venison and fruit in relative peace.

Being a killer was bad enough, but being a healer was even worse. Warriors saw a practically infinite number of things on the battlefield that they wished they could forget and probably never would be able to, but the heat of a fight was a protection against the worst pain. A soldier was forced to act quickly and could not afford to waste time looking too long at a chopped off limb, a severed midsection, or a sliced open skull. The adrenaline rush and the need to survive at all costs allowed them to step over the entrails of their fellow men without any real hesitation. A warrior inflicted pain, and did not have to trouble himself too much with the care of his wounded comrades. After all, it was a healer's job to tend to the fallen.

It fell to the healers to mend broken bones and close up cuts. It fell to the healers to amputate infected limbs that could not be cured. It fell to healers to piece organs back together when they could. It fell to healers to remove any debris that lodged themselves in wounds. It fell to healers to save the injured, and when the injured couldn't be saved, it was the healers who would blame themselves. Warriors mourned the loss of their companions, but they never grieved over the lives of strangers they couldn't save, since it was their mission in life to kill strangers.

When Neal failed to save the life of a warrior, he felt awful, but it was even worse when he failed to save a civilian. That's what had happened this time. He and Lady Alanna had been riding down the cost of Tortall when they had stumbled across the few survivors of a village that had been attacked by Carthaki raiders. They had stopped to heal those they could and they might help the villagers rebuild a house or two before Lady Alanna grew restless and rode off with her squire to have more heroic adventures, leaving the squad from the Queen's Riders who had arrived to handle the matter of the village's recovery alone.

No matter how much it tortured him, Neal couldn't prevent himself from thinking about the elderly woman who had just died in his care. She had been so shriveled and frail that a soft gust of wind probably could have blown her halfway to Scanra, and Neal still couldn't comprehend how she had managed to survive the enemy attack on her village. She hadn't even received a scratch during the raid, but that morning she had fainted suddenly, and when she was taken to the healers, it was discovered that her heart wasn't beating properly.

Stupidly, Neal had volunteered to tend to her. He had rested his palms against her chest, summoned his Gift, and sent the emerald healing flame he had inherited from his father into her. The magic spell he used was supposed to increase the rate at which her heart beat, and it worked all too well. In his haste to save her, Neal had forgotten to take into account that her body wasn't as strong or as young as those of the soldiers he usually healed.

On the scale of mistakes, it didn't seem like a major error, but it had been a grave one, especially for his patient. One minute, she had been lying unconscious on the mattress before him, still alive, and the next, her heart had given out entirely under the pressure his spell had placed upon it. Desperately, Neal tried every spell he could think of to restart her heart, but it was too late. She was already dead, and nothing could call her back to the realm of the living. Neal had made his decision, and nothing could reverse it. The thin silk thread that connected the body and the soul had been torn, and now her soul had sailed out of the reach of any magic. The old lady was dead because Neal was an impulsive fool. Her blood would stain his hands forever.

"Neal." He struggled to stop vomiting as he heard the leaves on the ground crackle as Alanna strode over them toward him. It would be galling enough if one of the Riders or a villager saw him in such a state, but it would be even worse if Alanna spotted him in his present condition, since he would have to face her every day until he passed his Ordeal and was knighted. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I've never been better, my lady," he answered, doing his best to imitate his typical sarcastic tone as he frantically covered his pool of sick with leaves and dirt.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped impatiently. "You were just vomiting. Vomiting can indicate many things, but not wellness."

"I wasn't vomiting," Neal said. "I was reusing a meal to reduce my food consumption and minimize the strain on our supplies, my lady."

"There are times when I think you go through your life trying to be as disagreeable as you can possibly be, Squire," snorted Alanna, shaking her head. Then, locking her amethyst eyes on his piercing green ones, she added in a softer voice, "You know that no healer can save everyone. As such, you don't need to feel guilty every time you fail to save a patient. Sometimes you can try your best, and your best won't be enough. In such cases, it is better to dwell on those you managed to heal, not those you didn't."

"Such words of wisdom are, of course, emerging from the mouth of a woman who punched a hole in a tent yesterday when she couldn't save a hemorrhaging patient suffering under a condition that my father and two other royal healers working together couldn't heal," Neal observed, rolling his eyes. Alanna's words should have been a balm to him, but he didn't want to be comforted. He wanted to be punished for the role he had played in the death of the old woman. Only punishment could be a consolation to him now, because only punishment would permit him to atone for what he had done.

"My actions are not the point, Nealan," she responded sharply. "We are discussing you, not me, and it makes perfect sense that I should want to prevent my squire from inheriting my flaws, so that one day he can be a better healer than I am."

"Why bother, my lady?" Neal shook his head dismissively. "I'll never be better than you. After all, I'm pretty sure that you never forgot that an old woman's heart is feebler than a soldier's."

"Maybe not, but I made my share of mistakes, and so did your father and every other healer ever to be trained." Now, it was Alanna's turn to shake her head. "The Great Mother Goddess knows that if we refuse to accept anything but perfection from ourselves, we would never achieve anything, and we would be defeated before we even started. Learn from your errors and move on. Do not be crippled by them. "

"It still stuns me how fine a line separates the living from the dead," muttered Neal, absently scratching away the verdant moss that clung to the rock he was sitting on. "It still amazes me that it is easy to kill someone with a blow to the head or a slice through the heart or the stomach. It still makes no sense to me that it is simpler to kill someone than to give birth to someone, and that it is far easier to take a life than it is to save a life."

When Alanna made no answer to his comment, Neal found that the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds formed a cacophony in his ears, and he had no choice but to admit haltingly, "You know, I never wanted to be a knight before my brothers died."

"I know." Alanna nodded. "Your father told me that when they died you felt that you had to go for your shield so that there would be a knight in the Queenscove family."

"Father was wrong," Neal announced baldly. "I've never told anyone—even Kel—this before, but I only started my page training because I didn't want to be a healer. I was bitter about my Gift, since no healer had managed to save my brothers. To tell you the truth, I really wanted to do nothing more than lock myself up in a tower after they died with just books and parchment to keep me company, because I was tired of dealing with human idiocy. Yet, I knew Father and Mother would never allow me to become a recluse when I was the heir to a dukedom, so I decided to become a page, instead. It was only when I became friends with Kel and the other pages that my interest in healing was revived, because I didn't want them to die like my brothers had. I figured that the ghosts of my brothers would stop haunting me if I did that, but they haven't, and now I am also tormented by the spirits of those I fail to save. As selfish as it sounds, healing was meant to be my redemption, but so far, it has only brought me more agony and guilt."

"You would feel even worse, Neal, if you did nothing to try to save them," Alanna said gently. "Also, if it makes you feel any better, healing is my means of redemption, as well."

"It is, my lady?" Neal demanded, staring at her in shock.

"I wouldn't go to the bother of lying to make you feel better," Alanna informed him wryly. "The truth is that I heal in the hope that it will compensate for all the killing that I have to do as a knight. As a knight, I know that it is my duty to kill those who threaten Tortall, but as a person, I feel the need to balance out my killing with saving others from death."

"I didn't manage to save that poor old lady," pointed out Neal acidly. "My interference didn't save her."

"She would have died if nobody had tried to heal her, too, and she had a better chance of surviving with a healer attending to her," countered Alanna. "You won't help anyone by refusing to heal anyone just because you can't save everyone. You can't deny your healing abilities any more than you could isolate yourself in a tower after your brothers died. By serving as a page, you did your part to change the history of Tortall by helping Kel endure her year as a probationer. Imagine the good you could do as a healer."

It was Neal's turn to be quiet as he reflected on her words. Then, after several minutes of contemplation, he said simply, "I guess I have to try to heal that so that I won't be haunted by the people I let die without attempting to help them. That's what my brothers would want me to do, after all."

"Come along, then." Alanna reached out to slap his knee. "There's a pretty young woman with a broken arm who would like you to attend to her."

"Oh, well, if she is good looking, then I really should hurry." With that, Neal shoved himself to his feet and began walking across the crackling leaves out of the woods. "I will also have to remember to tell her all about my glorious adventures as squire to the legendary Lioness."

"You will be renowned for your bedside manner in no time, I am confident, Neal," remarked Alanna, her lips quirking upward as they returned to the healers' tent.


End file.
